


Detectives Detect

by lifetheuniverseandeverything42



Series: Mainline [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy Santiago Loves Jake Peralta, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Jake Peralta Loves Amy Santiago, Mental Health Issues, Rosa Diaz & Jake Peralta Friendship, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Amy Santiago
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifetheuniverseandeverything42/pseuds/lifetheuniverseandeverything42
Summary: Basic premise:Jake is hurting himself. But, you know, he works with a bunch of detectives, who like, detect stuff. That's kinda literally their job.Leading to much angst and hurt/comfort.Trigger warnings for self-harm and suicide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Brooklyn 99 or its characters - they belong to Fox Broadcasting Company, NBC, Universal Television, Dan Goor and Michael Schur. Idk which one currently has ownership rights - I just know it ain't me...

Jake has a secret.

And not a good secret - like a fun surprise for someone or even some prank plans.

A _bad_ secret. Kept for his friends' sake as much as his own.

The only thing was, Jake's friends are all, you know, _detectives_.

And detectives, like, _detect_ stuff.

So just to recap:

Jake has a bad secret, that (he thinks) needs to be kept at all costs from his friends.

And all his friends are literally _paid_ to work stuff out and find out secrets.

A recipe for disaster - or one of Boyle's weird food thingies...

Now Jake thought he was cool with it all, he's known these guys a long while now. They're tight.

And more importantly they know nothing; nor even _suspect_, he has a - what to call it - problem... 

But now his long-time-passive-past-done-issue, has become a right-here-and-now-very-not-passive-issue...

With the stresses of dating Amy and all the calamity it had taken to even begin, alongside his job and like, being in _prison_, and with the quiet but determined seeking of Holt's approval; Jake's headspace had been rapidly going to shit.

It wasn't that dating Amy was a ‘big problem’. He loved her _so much_, she said that she loved him - and he believed her, most of the time. He wanted to marry her, but he was scared. Mostly because she had moved in and living together in close proximity usually means this kind of thing… Gets out. Jake was determined it wouldn't; but the only thing is that if your arms and thighs are covered in cuts it's _really_ hard (pun unintended) to have sex... But Amy wouldn't notice, would she?

His job is just fine too. Great even, despite Amy trying to become a sergeant and Holt going for commissioner. Everything was going to change, and Jake was terrified. And you know there's nothing like being unjustly locked up in prison to fuck up your mental health! Jake had gone _in_ already unstable from the trial and the shock and all of it - not too unreasonably to be honest. But then he was _stuck_ there, slowly going crazy; and when he got out it was like he'd left a part of himself, or even he person he used to be, in there. There's nothing like going to prison to give a shock to the system or give you a wakeup call. Maybe...

Then there's Holt. Holt... Really had become a father figure. Jake finally admitted it to himself. He looked up to him and wanted to make him proud. Was that so hard to understand? Was that so hard to acknowledge within himself? His own father had been _seriously_ sub-par and he'd never had a good role model (or anyone vaguely Captain-Holt-Like) in his life before. He was _family_. Along with all the Nine-Nine. They were his family. Which is why he could _not_ screw this up.

So yes, he'd started cutting again. At first it had been like a momentary relapse when the stress and the many _many_ things on his mind overpowered him. And he hurt himself for the first time in years...

He had tried (and failed) to convince himself it was just a simple mistake but his guilt and shame over the 'failure' crippled him until he _had_ to do it again. And again, and _again_.

He was hooked. Like any addiction - like riding a bike - you never forget, your body and brain do not let you forget.

But now he had to actively keep it a secret. From a bunch of people who literally figured stuff out for a living.

He was _so_ fucked (not actually, as he hadn't slept with Amy since the first relapse, and it was getting harder - no pun intended - to put her off).


	2. Chapter 2

When he arrived at work (the morning after a particularly bad bout of cutting the night before - wearing thick white bandages under his long firmly buttoned sleeves) Jake looked nervously around the precinct as he settled at his desk, near silently. That, it turned out, would be his first mistake.

The esteemed captain Holt had noticed that Peralta was extra late that morning. But upon some 'instinct', had decided to covertly observe him (instead of simply calling him out when he entered) and had hid himself where he could see both the elevator and his detective's desk. He ended up uncomfortably crouched and twisting round in order to see but concluded that Peralta's strange behaviour (not to mention recent return from being unjustly put in prison) made it worth the spying's disagreeable position.

And watching as he was, he immediately saw how uneasily the young detective entered and how noiselessly he sat at his desk. Not one quip or comment or overly loud and inappropriate statement.

So, he was worried. Kinda. He wasn't sure, maybe Jake was just tired?

But as the Captain kept watching, he noticed the other members of the bullpen throwing glances in Peralta's direction. Or maybe at Scully snoring with his mouth wide open again... Nope, definitely at Jake.

Now what?

He knew he wasn't the only one to be... Concerned. But what was he supposed to do about it? Yes, there were rules and guidelines for (nearly) this sort of thing. But this was Jake! All of that had to go out the window.

First of all, Holt decided at last, he had to convene a meeting. Gather intel, that's what a detective does at this point in a case. Since when Detective Peralta was a case the captain didn't know. But he cared too much about Jake to just let this go...

So, his staff assembled in the break room - hoping that would look more natural and so not at all suspicious. Yes okay, Scully and Hitchcock were notably absent as neither would have noticed a difference in Jake if he'd walked in wearing a dress. Or even a neon pink tutu...

So there sat Santiago, Diaz, Jeffords, Linetti (purely because she knew Jake from childhood so perhaps could offer some otherwise unknown information) and Boyle. Or Amy, Rosa, Terry, Gina and Charles. The Nine-Nine family. Conspicuously missing their signature member: Peralta... Jake.

The detectives (and Gina) were looking half-nervously, half-curiously at him as he entered. So instead of stringing it out, Holt simply outright asked them:

"Do any of you know what's going on with Peralta?" they all exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison. He sighed heavily and continued, "I'm assuming many of you noticed how he was when he came in this morning." That got a much better response, more nodding than shaking - that was Gina, of course.

"He was even later than usual Sir," Amy spoke up first.

"He was really quiet," Terry added, then continued more to himself, "Terry don't like it when Jakey's quiet."

"He didn't even say hi to me or anything," put in Charles.

"He looked down." Gina added dispassionately.

"He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he didn't think he was allowed to show it." Rosa corrected. Everyone stared at her, stunned. "What?" she frowned at them and they quickly averted their eyes out of respect for the continued health and well-being of their bodies. 

Nodding briefly, Holt took over again. "So, what might the problem be? Any ideas?" Annoyingly the co-workers all seemed to have jointly forgotten how to nod, to Holt's frustration and disappointment. "Amy?"

Jake's girlfriend sighed, "Look he's gonna notice we're all in here soon, we haven't got long." she pointed out. And the nodding was back, if belatedly.

"Let's just all keep our eyes peeled for any other... strange occurrences?" Rosa suggested uncertainly (for her). The nodding continued. 

"Charles," Terry added, "Why don't you try and speak to him? Find out what's bothering him if you can. But don't tell him we're worried about him. Okay?"

"Yeah, I definitely won't do that." he replied and Gina groaned, "What?" Charles asked her, irritated. "I can keep a secret - you should know that better than anyone. And it would really freak him out..." he trailed off. 

"What about me?" Amy questioned, glancing round and briefly locking eyes with their Captain.

"Have you already tried to talk with him?" The sergeant asked her.

"Yeah," she answered slowly, "I mean kinda..."

"Look, let Charles have a go, specifically about this morning. Yeah?" Terry suggested. 

"Alright, I can always ask him later tonight." Amy conceded. 

"That might be a good idea, Santiago." Holt put in. Then he addressed the rest of the squad, "If something is seriously bothering him, I will want to know." At their surprised and scrutinizing looks he clarified belatedly, "As a Captain wanting to know about the general well-being of his detective."

"Or a father worried about his son." Rosa muttered under her breath, just loud enough so that they all heard.

Holt looked away embarrassed but far too worried to hide it; deep down he knew this wasn't just a recent thing, he would say since prison really - all those months ago - his best detective had been... Off.

And as the group fell silent mulling on their own private worries and musings, their missing family member came striding in.

"Hiya guys! What are you all doing in here?" a suspiciously falsely cheery voice asked loudly. Jake... 

Quickly, they all made their clumsy-and-not-in-any-way-matching excuses and a hurried exit. Leaving Charles to grab Jake's arm for a 'quick chat'.


	3. Chapter 3

Jake watched them go, disappearing as fast as food into Scully's mouth, feeling sad and kinda betrayed all the while.

He turned to Charles - hoping to get some answers from his friend - only to find his standing awkward next to him, eyes anxiously scanning his face...

He quickly fixed large-and-not-at-all-fake smile to his face and cheerfully asked his pal: "What's up?"

"Jake-" Charles began quietly.

"Yeah?" Jake replied, smile slipping ever so slightly. Boyle just sighed and dropped his arm from resting on his buddy’s shoulder - Jake found he kinda missed the contact - and looked away. 

"What's going on with you?" his friend asked at last. 

Jake shifted nervously - a motion not missed by Boyle's detective eyes. "Nothing's going on Charles."

"I don't believe you." he answered candidly, done with tentative questions and 'giving him space'. "Just tell me." he insisted, "Please?"

Jake refused to look him in the eye, if he had, he would have seen them fill with tears. Charles gazed at the other man in despair, his well-trained brain noting every rumple in his clothing, the way his shoulders hunched, and his hands twitched anxiously, how his jaw was stubbled and his skin was pale and tight across his cheekbones. 

"Oh, Jake." he whispered, and the other detective flinched. 

"I'm fine, alright?" Jake muttered, rolling his shoulder uncomfortably. "Nothing's wrong." In desperation he briefly met Charles' steady, worried gaze; then quickly averted his eyes in pain.

He was not going to let it all spill out now, he'd managed this long. They didn't have to know, they didn't want to know really - they didn't know for what they were asking, he was doing them a favour. They'd thank him for it - if they ever knew... They'd thank him, surely...

Boyle silently watched as his partner sank away into the depths of his mind, noting how the awareness - and life really - faded in his eyes with every moment that passed. He sighed quietly, not wanting to disturb his (whatever he said) troubled, friend.

He turned to walk away, and Jake blinked. He sighed again, feeling the heavy-but-sadly-familiar weight of anxiety and overwhelming concern settle once more on his shoulders and in his heart.

"Charles?" He heard his partner whisper quietly, barely audible. Heart-breaking he turned and flashed him a quick (painfully fake) smile; then turned and walked quickly from the break room.

Quickly he found Amy, the Sarge and the Captain. And Rosa...

"Hey, you guys." He beckoned them all into the evidence locker with a tight sad smile.

"Is this about Jake?" Rosa asked immediately.

Boyle nodded wordlessly. And the group let out a collective sigh.

"What did you find out?" Terry questioned quickly.

"Not much, but there is definitely something wrong." Charles told him.

"That's all you've got, we already knew that!" Rosa exploded - they let it pass (partially in the interests of their own health) understanding her fear and frustration, all feeling it themselves.

"He-" Charles began, biting his lip; unsure what to say.

"He, what?" Holt prodded, speaking up for the first time since the 'meeting' had convened.

"He said that: 'Nothings wrong'." Boyle explained, his fingers making air quotes as he relayed Jake's insistence. 

"Then he sort of... Drifted off."

"Drifted off? Like, what? Left the room?" Terry asked, confused.

"No." Charles answered, struggling to find the words to explain. Then Amy broke in:

"I think I know what you're talking about." she admitted quietly, the others hushed instantly at her sad, regretful - ultimately pained - tone. "He's done it with me, only a couple of times. I wasn't sure what it was really, so I didn't mention it..." She paused and looked round at their concerned, intent faces listening in rapt attention; and continued. "It's as if, he just goes to some place inside his head - he's completely unresponsive. Doesn't speak, move, barely blinks. He just... Sits there or stands. It's weird and really scary. The first time- " She took a deep breath and carried on. "The first time I really noticed I wasn't sure what was happening, I thought he was messing with me, so I just ignored him, but then it carried on and I got scared. I was shaking him and screaming at him: nothing. In the end I threw a glass of cold water at him. That did it, but he looked so confused - like a puppy who didn't understand why it was being told off. I asked him what he had being doing for the last half hour and he said: 'talking with you'. The whole thing freaked me out so much, but I don't think he did it on purpose." The assembled 99 family all shook their heads, several of them near to tears. "All the same, I don't think he's sleeping - just sort of that same... Zoning out. And-" she broke off, then shook her head. "Never mind."

Exchanging glances with his sergeant, Holt spoke up: "And what?" She looked away, embarrassed. "And what Amy?" He asked her in a calm yet commanding tone. She locked eyes with his, blushing frantically.

"He's not... Interested." she explained hesitantly.

"You've not-" Rosa gestured with her hand vaguely, and Amy nodded. The Captain just looked confused. The others looked even more worried; not that Jake was a sex-maniac or anything, but it was another puzzling and concerning behaviour change to add to the pile.

"How long? Terry asked gently. Amy blushed hard and looked away. Then frowned, thinking back - a look of sick realisation dawning on her face as her calculations ended.

"A couple of weeks." She breathed, shocked. "I hadn't really realised, he hasn't been putting me off that long - just not... Initiating. But recently... He won't let me near him, or - touch him." She explained awkwardly, her concern for Jake and the shock of her realisation, overcoming her intense anxiety at the situation.

Her friends were much the same; awkward, but quickly realising that this - more than anything - was proof that there was something wrong. Not just some passing low key momentary issue - like his dad showing up again or an unsolvable case. Then Terry says what they're all thinking: 

"Something is seriously wrong." They exchange worried glances then one by one, leave the now-silent room.

Holt was last. He watched his colleagues leave, it was nearly the end of the day - he was looking forward to seeing Kevin. But he worried over his detective as the 99 gathered their strength to help him - no matter what the issue. They would be there for him.

"If my name isn't Raymond Holt." he declared to the silence of the evidence surrounding him. Then he strode determinedly back into the precinct.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a few days later and Amy was already at the precinct. She'd left Jake at their apartment, unable to get him to get up and ready. She'd abandoned her boyfriend when he was struggling and hurting - what was she _thinking_?

Amy sighed and put her head in her hands. 

"Amy?" Terry asked tentatively; coming over to stand, tall and muscular, next to her desk. "Are you alright?" A muffled yes was his only reply for several minutes. Then she lifted her head shakily and rested it on her still clasped hands, staring sideways past Terry's waiting form and into the abyss. "Amy?" He prompted again, and this time she answered.

"It's Jake." she told him, staring directly into his eyes.

"Jake's the reason you're crying, what's going on?" Terry questioned, then realised something: "Hang on, where is he?" he glanced around the precinct then back to Amy's weary and tear-stained face.

She hung her head. "It's nothing, I'm just being silly... He's-"

Terry cut in. "Amy Santiago, you listen to me." He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to stare into her eyes, unrelenting. "I have seen you cry on exactly two occasions prior to this. And that is how I know that this is not nothing and is certainly not just you being silly. Because you are Amy Santiago and you are a great detective." He paused to draw breath, and Amy interrupted him

"Alright, alright." Amy told him fiercely wiping away any remaining tears. "But you don't understand, Jake is still at home."

"What?" Terry asked confused, his concern over both of them rising rapidly.

"He just - wouldn't get up. He was awake and everything, in fact I'm not sure he even slept, but he just won't move. Like, at all. He spoke a bit, just telling me not to worry and to leave him." She paused biting her lip, "I was so frustrated and stressed out that I just did..." She broke down and began to cry again so Terry knelt down and put his arms around her gently, cradling her like he would one of his girls.

He took a deep breath and then spoke softly near to her ear so he knew she would hear him in the midst of her sobs. "You ought to know - you're not the only one worried about Jake..." Her head whipped up and their eyes met, then he led her in glancing around the precinct, tracing their distracted co-workers and conspicuously empty desk of their missing detective. She sighed, then hiccupped and nodded slightly. "We all look out for him, you as well. We care, Amy." he finished simply, smiling gently at her and patting her slumped shoulder.

As he turned to leave, she grabbed his hand whispering: "Thanks Sarge." 

"Any time, Amy." he responded softly, deciding to not call her Santiago after one look at her tired face. "Any time."

He left her hunched over some 'interesting' paperwork and headed straight for the Captain's office...

* * *

"Look," Terry spoke as soon as he had entered the room, closing the door with a solid click behind him and immediately proceeding to the blinds and closing them with a few jerky twists. Holt sat still and silent, half bemused, half confused. "Do you seriously not know what's happening to your precinct right now?"

"What do you mean, what's happening to my precinct?" Holt asked him in his monotone.

Terry told him in one word: "Jake."

Instantly the Captain's shell broke, if only for an instant, but in it Terry saw real worry and - if he was really pushing it - fear. "Jake..." Holt repeated slowly.

"Yes, Jake." Terry repeated again, growing in frustration. "Your best detective who is currently MIA and hasn't actually been present in any real way in weeks!"

"Sergeant." Holt warned, then he sighed and looked down at his desk, "Jake is - not okay. I think..."

"Well I think I agree with you," Terry told him, snappily easing into his uncertainty. "But what can we do?"

"Talk to him?" The Captain replied - so unsurely, so uncertainly, that for a moment Terry thought an alien had taken over his body.

"I think that's a good idea," he told him, and Holt immediately slackened - relieved. Terry hid a small smile and continued. "But he's not here; he won't leave the apartment, Amy says." He left out the part about not even leaving the bed, deciding to leave that worrying detail for later. "We could - pop round? Question his leave... He did take leave, didn't he?"

"No." Holt told him quietly, "I just thought he was late again." Terry closed his eyes in momentary anguish as he realised the lack of attention not just the Captain but all of them had had for their friend's well-being lately.

"Well he's not coming in from what Amy told me, so shall we go to him and see if we can get to the bottom of... this?"

"Sounds like a plan." Holt stood and walked to stand in front of Sarge. "But if we can't figure it out, I will confront him. I will not continue this tiptoeing and worrying behind his back."

Sarge stared at his captain curiously until he relented under the unyielding gaze... "I want to know what's wrong, I want to fix it." He admitted honestly, "It hurts to see him like this." The sergeant simply nodded wordlessly and went to the door, opening it and gesturing the captain forwards. 

"After you."   
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the support and appreciation I have received for this fic.  
It means a lot and as a reward here's an update!  
Hopefully with Christmas holidays and all I shoud manage to get another one out by New Year...

"Jake?" Holt knocked, cautious but determined, on the outer door of the apartment. He sighed and went to his pocket to retrieve the key Amy had given him.

He remembered quietly informing her of their plan, with Sarge distracting the others in a quick and completely pointless meeting (desperate times called for desperate measures, Holt hadn't liked it but Terry had outright told him it was the only way). She had whole-heartedly approved, passing him her key to the apartment without question and wishing him luck in a choked voice. In an act of pure affection and shared worry, he put one hand on her shoulder in comfort - she only cried more.

Holt sighed again and turned back to the task at hand: he opened the plain door slowly, not worried about attack like a police officer normally is when they open a door, but concerned as to what he might find...

Silence, apparently.

The living space of the apartment was clean and organized, with splashes of truly Jake-like mess around and about; two doors led off to the bathroom and bedroom, and the kitchen to the side existed in the same clean/messy state the rest of the place seemed to.

"Jake?" Holt whispered, hearing nothing in response. He checked the kitchen for signs of use, beyond a bowl of cereal sitting unwashed in the sink - Amy's he presumed - no sign of food being prepared or eaten was present.

His eyes scoped the two doors with the precision of one who was highly-trained, deciding on the bedroom first - reasoning that if Jake was in the bathroom, he wasn't entirely sure it was okay for him to enter.

Luckily (or unluckily) for him as he stepped through the lightly creaking door into a peculiarly darkened bedroom, his sharp eyes quickly discerned Jake's hunched figure tightly curled up on the bed.

There was no sign of his having moved all day; the curtains were drawn firmly across the windows to block out the afternoon sun and his slow rise and fall of his chest showed he was indeed alive - Holt had not exactly been certain until he had laid eyes on him - and lightly asleep. He wore only underwear and an overly hot long-sleeved top, his arms tucked under his body in what seemed a very uncomfortable way. Holt sighed quietly and began to rouse his most _concerning_ detective.

"Jake." he murmured, reaching out a hand to gently shake his shoulder. He was awake in moments...

"Captain!" Jake protested, pulling the covers up over his shoulders and pressing himself into the bed, "What are you doing here? I'm not exactly dressed!" he cried, carefully angling his limbs to keep his inner forearms away from Holt's dangerous gaze.

"I realise that Peralta, I do have eyes." he replied somberly.

"Then what-" Jake paused and took a deep breath, continuing in a forcibly calmer tone (getting riled up would only give him away, he realised) "Are you doing here?"

"Checking on you." Holt told him simply, in his customary minimalist manner.

"Why?" Jake almost shouted, exasperated. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I just want to be on my own! Is that_ so_ hard to understand, Captain?" He spat the last word mockingly: fully yelling now.

"Jake, please calm down." The captain patronised...

And Jake just snapped.

"Get the fuck out!" He bellowed right in his commanding officer's face, pointing angrily at the door with his wounded arm. Absently, some wearied part of his mind noticed that the rapid movement had aggravated his viscious self-inflicted injuries and most likely reopened a few of the cuts; he could feel fresh blood, wet and warm, slowly soaking through the thin - and mercifully, black - of his sleeve.

"Jake-" Holt gasped, shocked enough yet completely unaware of the hateful damage the darkness of the room hid from him. "I-"

"Just get out! GET OUT!" Jake screamed at him. Stumbling backward in a complete parody of his usual self, Holt made a clumsy retreat. He almost ran back beyond the apartment, breathing hard more out of shock than exertion.

'What the hell is going on?' he thought to himself, just as the same words were echoed to his right. A neighbour, from the looks of it, stood there looking mightily disgruntled.

"It's alright: police." Raymond held up his badge, but the man simply snorted derisively and gestured towards the door of the flat.

"So's he!" 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know in the comments what you think.
> 
> Just a little warning but there's one more chapter that should be out soon, then there might be a bit of a gap.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The scoffed retort faded ghostlike into the air around them, but this wary neighbour still eyed the ID badge shoved in his face and flicked his eyes between it and Holt's immovable face...

Once the astonished neighbour quickly went from angry to mostly flustered and uncomfortable under Holt cold gaze, he soon bid a hasty retreat into his apartment; and Holt was left alone, stood outside the door of his almost son. With no one to witness it, and no Jake to crow it over him, his eyes filled with tears and he bitterly wished he'd never invaded Jake's space in the first place. He remained standing there, staring solemnly at the closed door in front of him; his brain flicking as emotionlessly as possible through the events of the past hours, day, week, month and year - trying to find what had happened to his child and of course, how to fix it. He had to make this right.

But right now, he had to go and find Terry. His Sergeant had agreed to wait in his van that they had driven here in and was no doubt impatiently awaiting his return...

Meanwhile, inside the flat Jake was still shaking from barely held back rage. Not at Holt, no more like himself. Angry at how he risked his secrets, angry at how he couldn't even make himself get up that morning - clearly prompting the home raid. Angry, so angry; and afraid.

All of a sudden, the rage left him and he slumped back onto the rumpled bed; curling among his sheets and assuming the position in which Amy had left him and his dad (sorry, _Captain Holt _) had found him.

His mind did not wander nor slumber, it simply left him. And he lay, vacant like a hollow shell, on the bed he had once longed each day to share with his love. Now it was cold and empty apart from him. Some small screaming part of his mind tried to tell him that she was at work - where, really, he should be too - but it went unheard. All he knew was that he was alone.

_'By choice.'_ Some vicious malignant part of his psyche reminded him. Who had pleaded with him for most of the morning to get up, to eat something, to _speak_ to her - Amy. And what had he done - nothing. Who had left his busy office and sworn duty, to come and track his lazy ass down - Holt. And what had he done - screamed at him to leave. Ungrateful, horrible person. Stupid, useless - can't even lose his mind right...

Hidden behind barricades and many locked doors in the depths of his heart, Jake knew the truth - but the truth hurt more than any lie his brain could fabricate. The truth was: he was in _deep_. Struggling - drowning - at the bottom of a deep dark pit; and right now, he could see no way he would _ever_ get out again.

"Especially as you've pushed away anyone who might_ just_ be willing to throw you a rope." Jake muttered vindictively under his breath. His quiet, angry, critical words echoed slightly in the dead air of the apartment; they hung there for a moment, circling his prone form like vultures. No, not vultures, hyena - their cruel mocking laughter (reminding him heartlessly of bullies from so long ago, from before he learnt the mask of sarcasm and humour) surrounded him and it was to that harsh, fictitious tune he finally fell into a troubled, restless sleep. 

Little did Jake know that there was a small group of people, not many but good-hearted, who were willing to not just throw him down a rope, but to climb in there with him if necessary - just to get him out of that dark place. He just had to say the word.

Unfortunately, none of them - including Jake - knew what that word was...


	7. Chapter 7

Jake knew he would be caught out _eventually_, he also guessed (since she lived with him) that it would _probably_ be Amy...

What he failed to realise, however, was the significance of his boss's visit (forgetting that he would have left and returned to the precinct - where Amy was) not realising until much later that it was clearly instigated by her: some detective he was.

She was worried, he knew that already, but after the incident this morning that simmering concern was now boiling over.

When she came home that day, slightly later than she had been doing recently, he was sat motionless on the sofa in front of a turned-off TV and had been for some time. Although he looked up and met her somewhat teary gaze, she didn't acknowledge him; simply leaving for their bedroom, emerging a minute or two later changed into soft pants and a simple pastel tee, then walked straight past him to the kitchen. Slightly disorientated, Jake listened to the kettle boiling and the general clinking and pouring noises associated with making a cup of something - tea, he figured from the lack of pungent coffee scent drifting to him on still and silent air. See, his brain still worked - more or less... 

When she appeared, clutching a steaming mug with pale fingers that betrayed her nerves and sat tentatively next to him - though noticeably a distance from him - he was already ready to jump out of his seat. Then as she straightened her shoulders and lifted her tired eyes from staring unseeing into the swirling depths of her fragrant tea, his stomach started churning like a small army of elephants were charging around in there: he knew her intentions, the signs and signals of the mental rallying of her determination, the questions that were about to come flooding out. He was _not_ looking forward to this... 

"Amy?" he spoke up first, hesitant and unsure, but putting just enough softness onto the word - her name - to show his worry for her.

She immediately quirked an eyebrow and met his curious, anxious stare: "What?" she answered, reflexively. 

"How are you?" he murmured, unwilling to raise his voice much more above that - he wouldn't want to be _annoying_.

"Jake, I think we both know the real question is: how are _you_?" her piercing eyes drilled into him, yet he sensed no malice in them - that was good, he wasn't sure what he would do if he ever did, as it was... No, now wasn't the time for that.

"I'm fine-" he began his _I'm-perfectly-okay-what-are-you-talking-about routine_ that he thought he had perfected over the years... 

"No, you're not." she cut him off shortly. _Damn -_ he must be out of practice, that or his girlfriend was actually a pretty good detective. Within his inner musings, Jake realised it was probably a combination of the two. 

"Yes, I am. I just-" he trailed off, the knowledge that she would not fall for any of his lies - as it was literally her job to find out the truth - meant he was screwed. He'd known it for a while, but now the reality of it was staring him in the face. Quite literally, as Amy peered at his weary face - never wavering - while the cogs in his brain whirled furiously to find the words to explain. Finding none, he took the only course of action available to him; he stood quickly and moved hastily for the exit - escape being the only option open to him, or so he thought. 

Just as swiftly, too much so - as if she was expecting it, she moved wordlessly to block his exit.

"Please Jake." she started, breaking off as he violently shook his head. "Please, don't you owe me some kind of explanation?" As much as she hated to play that card, she knew at least, that it would work. Maybe then _finally_ she could get some answers.

There was a hesitant pause, which Amy endured with bated breath, then a soft sigh (aching with buried pain that nearly brought Amy to tears) and her boyfriend nodded weakly, then let her pull him down to sit next to her on the couch.

"Jake," she called his name and he grunted, his eyes drifting lethargically up to meet hers. "What's going on with you?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She only just heard his sullen reply. 

"Jake." Her voice now carried with it a hint of warning, then just as swiftly as it had appeared it shifted into concern. "Talk to me." She almost begged. 

"It's nothing." he replied, trying to act certain but unable to prevent the slight waver in his voice that used to crow or cheer so confidently, or the trembling of the hands which used to be so steady when they held a gun. 

"So there is something then." he cursed his words and his mind raced anxiously to find an exit, he stood and she followed him - but there was no escape to be found.

"N-no." He tried desperately. 

"Jake just tell me, please. I don't care what it is you're hiding, I'm just worried. You barely eat, you hardly ever speak and when you do its quiet and barely above a whisper. You don't kiss me, you hardly touch me, let alone... Is it me? Is it something I did?"

Internally, Jake screamed at his own weakness: that couldn't watch her suffer just to keep his secret safe. He was hurting enough, there was no use both of them being in pain - he reasoned. He couldn't just come out with it, he definitely could not show her, so how...

"You know how druggies have their addictions." he began, frightened and uncertain but somehow finding the words. 

"Yes." she answered slowly, suddenly terrified of the turn the discussion had taken.

"Well, I have mine." he told her simply. 

"And?" she prompted; her hands on her hips - probably out of interrogation habit, Jake thought idly to himself. "What is it?" she whispered, almost afraid of the what the answer may be, but too close to finding out the truth to give up at this point. 

Heedlessly he powered on, he too had gone too far to turn back now... 

"Simple." he shrugged, clearing his throat and letting his cold words spill out into the air: "They fill their blood, I spill it."

"What!" her hands slipped from her hips - Jake doubted she even noticed - her wide eyes never wavered from boring into his.

"Never mind..." he shook his head and turned away from her, seemingly back towards the bedroom and his cocoon that waited there.

"No, Jake. I want to know what you mean." her shock had faded, replaced so quickly by concern; Jake hated seeing it there, plain as day, written on her face. He put that hurt and worry there: he did that.

"You wouldn't understand." he dismissed her, aiming to let her down gently so that she could go back to not caring – no that wasn’t fair, Amy always said she cared about him, that she loved him even. Okay, so correction: _pretending_ not to care.

"Try me." her determined reply hinted just enough of a challenge to force him to face her again, to actually look her in the eye to give his answer. 

"No, actually I'd rather not."

She blinked and he turned away again, back to his sleepless sleep.

"Jake," she tried, putting a hand on his arm. "I understand that-"

"You understand nothing, Amy!" he shrugged off her touch and spun back around to face her down; Amy watched speechless as her eyes filled with tears. "I knew you’d never understand this! That's _why_ I didn't tell you." he added, softer; tears coming to his own eyes at his own inadequacy in the situation. He longed to simply hold her in his arms, but he daren't touch her - he would spoil her. That's if he hadn't already.

"I could have helped." Amy whispered, tears overflowing down her cheeks, "I can help-"

Once more he cut her off, not meaning to be rude, just frustrated; with himself, that is, not with her.

"You can't help, Amy." He sighed a long breath of defeat. He was trying so hard to not let her see how much it cut him deep inside, more than any blade he had ever wielded against his skin ever had, to say this to her. "You don't understand: you _can't_. And if you don't understand... How, _why,_ even what. Then you _can't_ help me. Not now, not ever. I'm sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” she asked him quietly, after all the answers to questions she never thought she'd ask and wished she hadn't had to.

“Because I think I need to leave.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, you guys...  
I've had so many lovely comments for this story, I am SO glad you like it!  
So here's another chapter, with more to follow soon - hopefully!  
Thanks for sticking with this fic, I had to figure out where I wanted this story to go.  
And now:  
DRUMROLL PLEASE  
Chapter 8!!!

Amy stood in shocked silence, barely registering as Jake left their apartment.

Slowly, without realising it, she sank down onto their couch and stared at the blank wall.

The silence stretched on.

She barely twitched as her phone rang. Didn't even blink when it rang again. Dimly, some part of her brain heard a tinny voice she vaguely recognised speaking through the answerphone system.

Time passed by, she remained unaware of it.

Then a rattling of the front door, the sound of a key in the lock.

"He's back!" she whispered to herself, that painful hope cutting through her stun-stunted brain like a knife. For some reason terribly exhausted and shaking, she clambered up and scrambled to the door; just in time to greet a white-faced Charles and white-knuckled Rosa. At the sudden ripping away of her frail hope, all the emotions she had yet to process came welling up like a geyser inside of her; and Amy collapsed in floods of tears into the startled arms of her friends.

"Now what?" Rosa hissed as she clutched at the snot, drool and tear-drenched puzzle-solver suddenly in her lap.

"Amy?" Charles asked, tentatively. "Amy, what's going on?"

"I-I-" Amy began, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with the back of her sleeve. "J-Jake..." she tried again but dissolved into a puddle of messy, wet, snotty crying - all over Rosa's shirt in a way that would have made her extremely uncomfortable, if not for the intense worry brewing inside her as Amy mentioned Jake.

"Where is he?" she demanded of her crumpled friend.

"Easy Rosa," Charles cut in swiftly, "Lay off with the interrogation."

Rosa bit her lip (in a most un-Rosa-like burst of anxiety) and shut up.

"Hey, Amy." Charles crooned, in the same tone of voice he used with Nikolaj. "What happened?"

Slowly Amy emerged from her den of hair and hands that hid her face. Her eyes were red and her face blotchy, her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip in a way that Jake would have certainly found cute if only he'd been there to see it.

"Jake." Amy took a deep breath. "We had a fight, I think. He left."

"He's gone!" Charles exclaimed, "_Where? _"

"Well, gee Charles. Don't you think that if I knew that, that's where I'd _be_!" Amy retorted, her fear and worry emerging in the fire of her words. 

"Okay, both of you. Cool it." Rosa ordered, standing with her hands menacingly on her hips - having deposited Amy back onto the couch.

Suddenly, Amy went pale - remembering more of her boyfriend's revelations now - and stood up quickly: "We _have_ to find him!" she cried.

"Yeah, no kidding." Charles added pettily and both women threw him a look...

"Let's go to the precinct. If we all work together, I'm _sure_ we can find him." Rosa countered, trying her hand at comfort and coming across as more like a mob boss - but her friends could read between the lines, they knew she was as worried as they were: they knew she cared.

"Wait, let me try and call him." Amy called across the apartment, as the other two headed for the door and she to grab her jacket from the bedroom. From _their_ bedroom.

As the phone dialled, she grasped her jacket - one that Jake had bought her for an anniversary or something - and turned to leave; then she heard the unmistakable ringtone of Katy Perry's _Firework_, which she knew Jake had set for her months ago as a joke (then had loved too much and kept it). Heart in her mouth, she rummaged through his bedside drawers and there - atop a strange little black box she didn't recognise - was Jake's phone.

"Guys, look!" she rushed back to her friends; the phone gripped in one pale, shaky, outstretched hand.

"This is going to be a lot harder than we thought." Rosa muttered as she gently took the phone from Amy's trembling grasp.

"Oh _Jake_," lamented Charles: "Where are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to guess the significance of the box???


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some revelations, the plot thickens, and the hunt begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the pretty short chapters, but I figured you lot would prefer an update...
> 
> So Season 6 is out on Netflix.  
And I've watched it all in 3 days. Go me!  
Onto Season 7...  
:-)

Amy stared out of the car window in silence, tears born of worry tracing their way down her cheeks.

Rosa glanced back at her and shared a long look with Charles as she drove them back to the 99th.

As they pulled up outside, the sense of urgency which had abandoned them for the journey was back with a vengeance and the three ran into the building and into the lift.

Amy was still crying, quietly. Charles gave her a sideways hug in the elevator as Rosa watched - awkward but wishing she could help.

_Ping.   
_

The doors opened and the comforting familiar view greeted them; Terry at his desk looked up briefly then stopped - shocked - as he took in the weeping Amy, agitated Rosa and frantic Charles.

"Oh my God." he whisper-shouted, taking over for Charles in comforting Amy. The group made their way, almost unconsciously, into Holt's office; finding Scully and Hitchcock on the sofa there as they entered.

Holt looked up at the huddled group, face betraying none of his emotions. Amy still pretty much inconsolable, as Rosa - with Charles chiming in on occasion - told the squad of the events of the day. Gina drifted in from the doorway as Jake's name became a mantra.

Terry held Amy close like he did his daughters and Holt's eyes began to fill with tears when she spoke up at the tale's end.

"We need to find him." she whispered, almost too quiet to hear. She looked up, straight at the Captain and began to beg. "Please, _please_ find him!" 

Holt opened his mouth to speak, but broke off when his heard registered her final utterance: "I don't know what he might do..."

It was then, into the stunned, shocked and scared atmosphere of Holt's office, that Scully asked: "Do you think that this has anything to do with the bloody tissues and bandages he's been throwing away every day for a couple of months now?"

Amy's head whipped round so fast it must have hurt as she shrieked: "Everyday!"

Terry's cry followed hers by mere seconds: "For a couple of _months_!"

Scully looked as if he was gonna fall off the sofa, but he steeled himself (probably by thinking about pizza or something) and nodded. "The ones from yesterday are still there."

"Where?" Rosa demanded, the rabid fear inside getting the better of her.

"The bin next to the store cupboard, down the hall." Scully told her nervously. "Am I in trouble?" he questioned the room.

For a moment Holt ignored him, turning to Charles and Rosa with the simple command of: "GO!"

Then he faced the worried Scully and almost gently murmured: "No Scully, you're not in trouble. I just wish you would have told us sooner."

"Jake said not to." Hitchcock (his fellow trash-panda) butted in at that point.

The assembled detectives (and Gina who had actually put down her phone) stared at the duo; a mix of terror and worry splashed across their faces - even Holt's.

Scully shrugged and tentatively carried on: "We did ask him, but he said it was nothing and to not tell anyone."

Hitchcock looked away as Scully's eyes filled with desperate fearful tears. "Was it wrong? I thought - _we_ thought. We just did as he asked..."

"It's okay, Scully." Amy whispered then, "Hitchcock too. You didn't do anything wrong, just trusted a friend."

"We love him too, Amy." Scully whispered, meeting her tearful gaze with his own.

The air was thick with emotion when Rosa, her fists white and clenched, and Charles, pale and shaking, returned.

Carrying an evidence bag with a bundle of blood-stained tissues and bandages, each stripping off the gloves they had adorned.

One look at the bag and the whole group tensed. Then after a minute or two of silence, it was Terry who spoke up; as he stroked Amy's shoulder to keep her, and himself, from flying apart: "I think we really need to find him..."  
  
"Agreed." The echo came from every individual, the whole team, the whole family, grounded in their shared fear and heartbreak - determined to find their missing member, before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your comments, everyone!
> 
> Let me know how much you want me to string out this 'trying to find him' section...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 guys!!!
> 
> Back with Jake for this chapter... 
> 
> (Extra warning for suicidal ideation for this chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any of you who may not be comfortable with the discussions of suicide.  
In my experience the destructive behaviour in which self-harm is grounded generally (if not aborted) leads to suicidal ideation.  
It was just the best way to further this story, there will be nothing graphic nor any actual suicide taking place.  
Concerns over triggers are valid to me; and if this chapter (or any earlier or later chapters) cause any issues, please let me know... There will be more graphic descriptions of self-harm and related issues in future chapters - so just be aware.  
That being said: please enjoy! This pretty depressing chapter?   
And let me know in the comments what you think.

Jake walked like a zombie, robotic and autonomous, along the street.

In the midst of this city, that he loved and protected and would_ die _for, Jake wandered alone.

Heading purposelessly to a place he did not want to go, but no longer felt he had a choice.

Thoughts mercifully silent and dead - like the rest of him, soon, would be.

In a cloak of quiet amongst the city of chaos; he walked and walked until he reached his long-awaited, long-dreaded destination.

As he approached the vacated bridge, deliberately selected for its height yet disused nature, he became aware through the fog of his brain that there was someone else there.

Someone else, in _his_ spot!

Then his police training kicked in and he crept on practiced feet towards the shadowy figure leaning out over the rail.

"What ya doing?" Jake asked quietly, not wanting to startle but also quite unable to gather the energy to summon a voice any louder...

"Oh!" cried the stranger, a girl it sounded like, as they turned to stare - like a deer in the headlights - at Jake as he moved closer.

"Nothing much." she shrugged; though it was dark now, Jake could make out her face - pale and young - and the outline of her baggy worn clothing.

"Really? Me either." Jake replied, feigning ignorance - yet still aware that she wasn't any more fooled than he was.

"It's a beautiful view." she told him softly, after a minute or two.

"Yes." Jake replied, but unlike her he wasn't gazing out at the darkening skyline but down into the icy water.

She glanced across at him, somewhere in Jake's brain he noticed, her eyes curious and assessing.

"I thought you were here to stop me." she spoke into the wind, staring out across the water once again before turning to confront him. "But you're not, are you? If anything, you're here to join me."

Jake shrugged. Words failed him and the whole thing seeming like much more effort than it was worth.

"I've never done this before." she admitted quietly. "I'm scared, so _scared_."

That got through to him and he unsteadily met her gaze. "So you should be, you'd be mad if you weren't."

"And here's me thinking, if _anything_, wanting to kill myself meant I was insane!" she laughed a little hysterically...

Silence fell again, the wind whipped at their clothes and nipped at their skin, any noise of the city was lost as they became an island in the silence and the mist. As lost in their thoughts as a ship in the vast ocean, drifting on the tides without control nor protection.

When Jake responded, he was speaking more to himself than to her: "I think, to try and kill yourself is the sanest thing anyone will ever do."

"How'd you figure that?" she asked him, shivering as she clutched the top of the railings.

"People always talk about it like it's something crazy. 'Don't do something _stupid _', they say, 'don't do something _silly_ '. But in fact, it's the most sane, sensible, _logical_ and reasoned thing anyone can ever do. You don't just kill yourself on a whim, you don't just want to die because you feel like it. It makes _sense_. It is the best option - or the least worst at any rate. They dismiss the thoughts that lead to the actions, call them silly and the choice itself stupid. But sometimes the only choices are bad ones, but you still have to choose."

His words fell away into the void beneath them and silence enveloped them once again.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked him conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather.

He shrugged again. "Because it's the best option? Because then it will all be better, for them..." he trailed off and sighed deeply as she stared at him.

"Them? Who's 'them'?" she questioned numbly. 

"It doesn't matter, they will be better off without me. How about you?" he added quickly, diverting the subject away from tender topics. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, I don't know." she declared vapishly, to the water and the wind as much as to him. "It seems like no matter what I do, I end up back here - metaphorically speaking that is - facing_ this_ decision. This non-choice. And I haven't had the guts to make it yet." Her face grew wistful and eyes filled with tears. "Anyway, I'm glad you've got a 'they'. I wish I did."

"I would tell you it can be better, I would tell you not to do this, I would tell you recovery is possible." Jake whispered, his voice quavering like a flag in a gale.

"But?" she prompted, raising an eyebrow as she assessed the black-looking river.

"It's not my place." he told her simply, with another bone-weary shrug.

"What do you mean?" she frowned, watching him as he stared into the distance.

"It's something like etiquette." he fumbled for the words, "I've got no place to tell you not to do something I long to with every molecule of my being."

"But you see, I don't." she rounded on him, releasing her grip on the railing to wind icy fingers into his sleeve.

"You don't... What?" he asked her, growing more exhausted by the second.

"Want to jump." she whispered after a moment, her desperate eyes seeking out his - hoping perhaps, in some way, to find salvation.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, with eyes tired and squinting as the wind whistled around them. He sighed.

"Then don't."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Sleepless, this madness is walking me out to the ledge  
And stands there beside me, shivering out on the edge'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was difficult to write.
> 
> Warnings for suicide continue from previous chapter.

And Jake sighed.

He felt so very tired. Maybe it was the cold, as it seeped into his bones, his fingers seemed frozen to the rail and his every breath was raw and ragged.

He could barely feel this stranger's hand as they tugged on his arm. Some distant depths of his brain registered her shouting at him.

She didn't know his name.

For some reason, it struck Jake as being so unbelievably funny. She didn't know his name...

He was going to die, and the last person he was going to see didn't even know his name.

This wasn't the plan. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

For most of his life, he'd imagined his death to be heroic - dying in the line of duty, jumping in front of a bullet to save another's life, dying cradled in the arms of his friends.

Since Amy, his visions of the future had more to do with growing old side by side - dying lying next to one another in the same night, so as to avoid either one having to live without the other.

Now, _this_ was how he was going to die. With a stranger, who didn't even know his name, being the last to see him, to speak to him.

And his death would be at the merciless hands of the icy river.

Heroic, for sure, in its own way. He was doing this to save the people he loved, like he had always wished for but unlike he'd ever imagined.

Without him the precinct would be better: Amy would be free from her messy in-debt boyfriend, Holt would be free of the annoying son he never wanted nor asked for, Rosa would be free of the irritating uncool weakling she'd had hanging around her since the academy, Charles would be free to find a friend who would support him better (who would love the things he did and enjoy the weird food he did), Gina would be free from any responsibility to him - sometimes it felt like he'd been forcing her to take care of him since his parents split up - and Terry would be free from looking after this 'big dumb work baby' so he could focus on his awesome _biological_ children.

As for loving, as for growing old with Amy... Amy.

At the thought of the love of his life, who had supported him through so much - not in the least, prison! And even when he threw this whole mess at her, she still seemed to love him. God, he loved her.

Slowly, through the haze of his mind, he remembered his last conversation with her. His harsh words; her amazing and kind ones.

"But she could never understand!" he muttered angrily, clenching his fists so hard his nails drew blood as they rested atop the railing.

The stranger must have left, some muted part of his brain realised...

Amy.

"I'm so sorry Amy." he whispered into the wind; as it took his heartbreak, his sorrow, his pain, his grief and his guilt. So much guilt.

"How could I treat you like that?" he cried, as the tears trickled down his cheeks. He stared down into the water and readied himself to climb over the railing. "Goodbye Amy."

"Why are you leaving me like this?" His brain conjured the voice of his beloved as a last attempt at survival, he was sure. Self-preservation to the end.

Not turning round, remaining intent on his slow scramble over the steel - one foot raised - he replied to his imagination.

(At least this way he could sort of say goodbye, he reasoned.)

"It's for the best." he called into the wind, not sure who exactly he was trying to convince.

"Why? How could this be for the best?" the voice sounded sad, like they were crying - or had been. Jake frowned.

"Because you'll be so much better off - without me." he cried, almost pleadingly. Even at the end, even at his worst, he was still seeking validation. He was so useless. 

"Don't you think I love you?" his ears caught the reply, even though he wasn't sure he wanted them to. The foot was over the rail now.

"Yes." he admitted with tears beginning to stream down his face. "And I love you!" he wept. His leg was over, straddling the fence. "It's _because_ I love you, that I _have_ to do this."

"Don't I get a say?" his imagination replied. 

"You don't understand!" he yelled, the anger from before returning with vengeance. He wobbled, then steadied himself as his hands gripped the freezing rail. 

"Help me!" came the response, as shrill and as frightened as his thoughts. "Help me to understand!"

"You can't!" he replied, anxiety and outright fear reaching its peak. He brought his other leg over the bar, his eyes clenched shut.

"_Why _?" That one word was so filled with pain, desperation, guilt and fear - it echoed in his brain, bouncing around like a ping pong ball within the confines of his skull.

Why. Why was he doing this. Why... 

He turned around, hands arching behind him to grasp the railings as he opened his eyes and looked down.

He was afraid. That's good - still sane then.

The water beckoned, but still he resisted the urge to just: let go.

Taking a deep breath, he ordered his final thoughts and spoke aloud to the delusion which haunted him - the imaginary figure that encompassed all of his dreams and hopes and joys, that would die an icy death right alongside him.

"I cut myself to cope, to ease the pain, ease the pressure. Of life, of my thoughts, of everything! It's _so_ much, there's _so_ much. Too much to deal with alone. I can't do it! But Amy could never understand, no of them could. You can only _get it_ if you've _done it_, if you know intimately how it feels - and I would never wish that feeling on my worst enemy, let alone the love of my life! She would never understand, they could never comprehend it - to make myself bleed to feel better! The scars I have, the damage I've done - and enjoyed. It's sick! They'd hate me in the end, it would disgust them. I would disgust them. She'll leave me..."

"No, I won't Jake." 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 300 kudos! Thanks guys!
> 
> The plan for this fic keeps getting longer! At first it was about a dozen chapters, now it's a score of them - by the time I'm done, at this rate there might be fifty! Keep commenting and showing your love (is that a thing people say) for this fic, and I'll keep writing it - probably! 
> 
> Anyhow: ENJOY.

The quiet words, firm and sure, echoed in the swirling wind from just behind his left shoulder.

Frantically twisting round, his vision blurry from the tears and the gale, he focused on the shadowy yet instantly recognisable figure who stood there.

"Amy!" he gasped, crying afresh.

"Yes, Jake." She smiled even as tears flowed down her face. "It's me, I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

"You came?" he cried, disbelievingly.

"Of course I came!" Amy rejoined, her tears unceasing. "I told you - I love you." She slid her hand over to his where it gripped the rail, tracing his icy fingers with her slightly warmer ones.

He looked up and met her tear-filled gaze with his own leaky one.

"Please don't do this." she begged - unable to help herself - and the atmosphere changed in an instant.

Jake jerked away, and she flinched - from somewhere back on the bridge Jake heard a small scream but he stared resolutely straight down.

"You heard all of that didn't you?" he accused, as the black water resumed its calling.

"Most of it." she admitted. "I wasn't sure you knew I was here."

"I thought I was imagining you." he told her candidly, desperately ignoring the way she let out a sob at his admission.

"How did you find me?" he interrogated her briskly; wanting to delay any unreasonably reasonable requests on her part.

"Your new friend." she replied; with a glance behind her that Jake did not see, she surveyed the huddle of beat cops, detectives and civilians who were anxiously watching the proceedings...

"What!" Jake exclaimed and Amy's head snapped back towards him.

"She called 911 - she knew you were a cop and because we were already looking for you, we picked up the call." His girlfriend explained; trying her best to stay calm as _her_ detective literally stood less than an inch from certain** death**.

"Oh." Thoughts flashed through Jake's head almost faster than he could register them and the simple exhalation was all he could muster. It had echoes of defeat and guilt but also faint redolence's of hope, which they both clung to without another word.

The silence hung about them, stifling like summer's heat as the gusts began to die down; neither dared to speak and risk upsetting the delicate balance that had been tentatively achieved.

"Jake?" Amy braved it - of course she did, she was always braver than him. "Can you come back over the railing please?"

And just like that, all the fight went out of him and he nodded.

Eyes bright and mouth firmly closed to withhold her gasps, Amy guided her boyfriend back over the rail and safe into her arms.

Aware of the muted jubilation mere feet away Amy sighed and let her tears flow as she held Jake close like she would never let him go.

Jake, on the other hand, didn't think he could let go if he tried. He buried himself within the safe cocoon of his girlfriend's arms and sobbed his heart out. Dimly he heard the cheers but failed the realise they were for him...

Amy however, resented their triumphant cries; she knew this was only the beginning, there was a long way to go yet.

Eventually, Jake stopped crying. His eyes grew dry regardless of how much he still hurt inside; all cried out he uncurled from his chrysalis and stood shakily on his own two feet.

With weak fingers he gently tapped Amy on the arm, cautiously she met his weary gaze and grasped his trembling fingers with her own.

Together they walked to the end of the bridge. Curiously it was mostly vacated now, Amy knew it had been almost crowded of hesitant terrified people, but (rather sensibly) now only Terry and that girl who'd rung in stood there.

As she stiffly untangled her hand from Jake's, she fixed the teenager with a fierce gaze and walked over to her Sergeant who quickly drew her into a hug before mumbling hurriedly in her ear.

Jake dragged his attention from his girlfriend to focus tiredly on the girl who had stood beside him in the storm and now stood almost as resolutely in front of him.

"This is my number." She muttered as she reached towards him, a slip of paper clamped between thumb and forefinger; he took it on a reflex and they both ignored how much the other was shaking.

"I already have a girlfriend." he told her in a monotone.

"Hey, I'm 19 - you're like a grandpa compared to me!" she exclaimed in tone of forced lightness that he recognised painfully well.

"Am not." he retorted sullenly, stretching out his arm to return the tattered scrap of paper scrawled with her contact info.

"Look, I just want you to be able to call me - if you need to talk..." she admitted, suddenly finding her scruffy shoes very interesting to look at.

"What about you?" Jake replied, his brain on autopilot and seemingly very much in denial.

"Whadda ya mean?" she frowned, not understanding.

"You were out here first." he pointed out icily.

"But _I_ never climbed over and said goodbye!" she shouted - the pair both forgetting their remaining witnesses...

"You heard that, huh?" Jake whispered, evading her weighty stare to gaze vacantly out across the river.

The girl nodded and spoke in a whisper, as trapped in her memories as he was: "At some point you sorta zoned out and stopped responding - I knew you were a cop 'cause of your badge, so I called people who I hoped were your friends or at least could help you. Sorry..." She trailed off.

"No its okay, I just... never mind." Jake tried to comfort her.

"Listen, how about I make a deal with you, yeah?" she prompted after a moments silence.

"Like what?" he turned to face her; despite the roiling pool of emotions within his chest, curious.

"I don't give up; you don't give up - okay?" she proclaimed, her voice quavering.

"What are you saying? I jump, you jump?" he responded in a voice full of twisted sarcasm.

"In a way," she began, "What I'm saying is: let's survive this together. I can't do it alone," she admitted quietly, "And I know that you've got a 'them' and from the 'them' I've met, they're amazing..." She took a deep tremulous breath. "But I know that sometimes it's hard - impossible really - for people to understand something if they've never gone through it."

"Are you saying you can understand me?" he challenged her a little angrily.

"I dunno." she shrugged, "But I figured I can try..." With that she yanked up her sleeve to reveal scars that left no doubt as to their method of creation - just as Jake's own ones did.

Just then Amy disentangled herself from the Sarge (who went to his car and drove away - probably back to the precinct) and walked up to them. Before she could react - but certainly after she'd seen them - the teen shook down her sleeve and sighed: "Just think about it."

She wrapped his fingers around the bit of paper still proffered and turned to walk away the remaining breeze whipping her hair. 

"I don't know your name." Jake called out after her retreating back.

She stopped and pivoted to face him, a slight frown emerging: "It's Emily."

Jake took a deep breath, mindful of his girlfriend by his side, and said: "See you 'round, Emily."

She nodded, just once, short and sharp, the significance of the words not lost on her.

"See ya, Jake." she replied with a wry tired grin before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes it was Amy, yes Jake is safe for now. 
> 
> If anyone wants to know I'll be happy to explain my thinking for this chapter - Jake's U turn and Jake & Emily's interaction - if you ask in a comment... 
> 
> Thanks for all your continued support for this fic - subscribe to know when I next update.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should thank NBC YouTube channel for posting a 5-hour video of all the Brooklyn-99 cold opens which I then binge-watched in two halves and successfully reinvigorated my enthusiasm for B99 and this fanfic.

Amy studied him closely for a moment, then linked his arm with hers and began to lead him to her car.

As they walked, a bit slowly because Jake's legs were still a little shaky, she seemed to gather up the courage to speak.

"What was that about?" she asked him, somewhat nervously - Jake didn't know if she was nervous about his answer or nervous of his reaction to the question. His chilled fingers fiddled with the crumpled paper safe within the depths of his pocket.

"I'm not sure I can fully explain..." he told her truthfully, adding a quick: "Sorry." after her grip on him tightened.

"No, no, it's okay." she assured him, and they continued their slow ambling.

"Are you okay?" he questioned her in a murmur.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" she replied expertly, with a sad twisted smile.

Jake shrugged and Amy sighed.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Why would I need to go to the hospital - I didn't jump?" he replied a touch defensively; and a little too bluntly it seemed as Amy flinched.

"Your... wounds?" she prompted quietly, clearly uncertain of the right words to use.

Brusquely he pulled away from her. "I don't want to talk about that right now."

"Jake, please." she begged to his back.

"What." he answered shortly, refusing to turn around.

"I want to help." she told him gently.

"You can't-" he began angrily, then broke off with a weary, damaged sigh. "I'm sorry, I just... need some time."

"I get that - but I also have questions I need answering too." Amy replied, trying not to push him but also refusing to back down.

"Like what?" Jake questioned curious despite his better judgement, he spun to face her again and they resumed their walk to her car - arms obtrusively separated and hanging numbly by their respective sides.

"Like where do 'we' stand in all this..." Amy began quietly, after a short deliberation, as they reached her vehicle and she got him secured into the passenger seat.

There was a pause in their timid conversation as Jake thought her question over pensively and Amy walked around the car (unwilling to take her eyes off her boyfriend as she did so) to plonk herself into the driver's seat.

"I don't know, Amy." Jake spoke finally. Amy sucked in a breath and looked across at him; he tentatively met her gaze.

"Do you love me?" she asked him, quietly - for a moment afraid of the answer.

"Yes, of course I do!" Jake exclaimed, completely confident in his answer but then he added nervously, "Do you love me?"

"Yes, Jake. I love you." Amy assured him.

"Then I think that, for right now, that's all that we have to worry about."

"Agreed." his girlfriend replied, the slight frown remaining on her face accompanied by a soft smile that made Jake feel warm inside.

Amy reached out and gently intertwined their fingers, smirking slightly as Jake's digits warmed at her touch.

"Can we please go home - I really need to sleep." Jake interrupted her thoughts with a cheeky grin, that still did not quite reach his eyes but was a worthy effort, nonetheless.

"Of course, sweetheart. But then..."

"But then?" Jake queried, withdrawing his hand from hers and staring at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

Amy sighed, looked away and withdrew her arm to start the engine. "We do need to talk."

Jake's sighed mimicked her own almost comically, and she couldn't contain her slight smile.

"I know."

"Good. I love you."

"I love you too, Amy."

His eyes glazed over again as silence enveloped the car; without emotion he watched the city fly past as they drove back to their apartment.

As they arrived back at their place, the silence of the journey remained and without words they made their way into the building, up the stairs and into the apartment with Amy's key - Jake's being still in his jacket that was hanging on the other side of the door.

Amy watched as her boyfriend moved as if on autopilot through the living area and back into their bedroom. Giving him privacy and space, she perched on the sofa as she thought over everything that had happened; at some point Jake moved back into the room, now wearing a long-sleeved sweater (that made Amy want to cry as she laid eyes on it) and soft, cosy sweatpants.

"Do you want to come to bed?" Jake asked her softly, the first words either of them had spoken since leaving the bridge...

She nodded, feeling exhausted and drained despite how her brain was whirling. She followed him back into their bedroom and barely noticed when he slipped under the covers as she changed into her night things.

They lay there, for a minute or two, next to each other and only a couple of inches between them - but it could have been miles.

Finally, Amy rolled onto her side to survey her motionless boyfriend - he was asleep. Not soundly, she reckoned, but definitely out of it.

Quietly she exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and reached out with one finger to stroke his weary face, not even relaxed in the hesitant sleep he had found for himself.

Stretching and staring blankly up at the bare ceiling, she mentally reviewed the events that had led up to her talking the love of her life from jumping off a bridge...

After the revelations courtesy of Scully and Hitchcock, Holt had sent Charles off to the lab with the 'evidence' and Rosa to manage the phone-lines, with no cell to trace they were relying heavily on the public...

"Do you think he would mind if we sent out an APB to uniforms on the streets?" Terry had wondered aloud.

"He is at-risk." Was the Captain's only reply, his meaning obvious to those who knew the standard procedure - although none of them were used to it being regarding someone they know.

The way Amy remembered it now, hours later, was that through the fog of her panic and despair a sudden shout had pierced the darkness - although it had seemingly brought its own...

It had been Rosa, yelling about a call-in by a teenage girl from a bridge within their sector: about a man fitting Jake's description who was stood on the edge.

There were no words spoken in reply, only a flurry of action as the squad raced to get to there - thankfully it had been late evening and the traffic was 'minimal' for New York.

They had pulled up at the end of the bridge, its dark span across icy water seeming so ominous as they gathered there in the growing wind.

Then Amy was running - she couldn't remember anything else, just running - towards the shadow of a man stood pressed against the railing near the centre of the bridge. The man she knew to be Jake as she got closer.

Her Jake - stood leaning into the wind, staring unseeing down into the river far below... Her Jake - ready to jump off a bridge.

Somehow her ears caught the words he'd whispered before they were lost to the wind: an apology to the empty air. Halting abruptly, she stood as close as she dared; sobbing though he seemed not to notice her presence. He stared out at the skyline fading into the night and spoke the two words at which Amy thought her heart would break: 'Goodbye Amy'.

Unable to stop herself and before she'd even thought it through, she cried out to him - the words themselves she now could not recall.

He did not jerk in surprise and turn dramatically to face her, in fact for a moment she didn't think he had heard him as he began to raise his foot and lift it over the rail.

Heart in her mouth, she strained to hear the quiet words of his reply.

Her eyes had streamed with tears, for the most part not due to the gale that whistled around them, whipping her hair around her face and half obscuring the nightmarish view of her boyfriend slowly climbing over the railing before her.

They had talked - if you could call it that, when he never turned to face her, and she was crying so hard she was amazed he had understood what she was saying.

All she remembered thinking was that she didn't want to lose him. Not like this, not ever.

His lethargy made her desperate: "Help me to understand!" she had begged him as he brought his other leg over the bar and all she could do was watch helplessly.

"You can't." He had muttered in a terrifying monotone.

"WHY!" She had cried: a lament to more than his inexplanation - to all that had brought them here, to all that was at stake.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of the wind and the water way below them; and the blood roaring in her ears as he did not respond.

She stepped desperately closer as he pivoted to face away from her - towards the drop - hiding his pale face (with his gorgeous eyes scrunched tight) from her sight.

Just as she was about to gesture to Terry and his team who were waiting - tensely - just about in earshot, to grab him before it was too late; Jake spoke.

She recalled how she had to strain hear him, and the things he said made her wish she hadn't; the tone was confessional, full of self-loathing and fear and the words chilled had her to the bone.

Unable to process it all right then, she latched onto the final cry and offered him her irrefutable answer:

"No, I won't Jake." I won't leave you, please, please don't leave me. Don't leave me like this Jake. Please!

He had twisted around then, to gaze wide-eyed at her; making her heart skip a beat as he wobbled on his narrow ledge.

"Amy!" he had cried, sounding so shocked and in pain - she could only weep anew.

Their eyes had locked for what felt like hours, neither wishing to pull away.

Please don't do this, she'd thought desperately; only as his face grew cold and he jerked away (to her horror and terror) she'd realised she had spoken aloud.

He'd asked her how much she had heard (and unexpectedly informed her he had thought he was imagining her - not seeming to hear the sob that had escaped her at his admission) - acting angry that she was there, and stunned that girl had reported him...

Her calm tone somehow persisted, even though all she could remember was wanting to beg and cry and get him down from there and into her arms. As the silence lingered, she opened her mouth and spoke all that her heart was crying out and had been since she had got here.

"Can you come back over the railing please?"

When he nodded, her legs had gone weak with relief; she recalled watching silently - hovering almost - as he slowly climbed back over the rail.

Some part of her had heard the cheers coming from the rest of the 99 gang (and practically every cop that had showed up) but she couldn't help but ponder on the words of her boyfriend and she realised there was a long way to go yet.

They had stayed like that, wrapped around each other, for ages - dimly she remembered thinking how she never wanted to let go of him ever again, she had clutched at his arm wanting to remind herself that he was still here, he hadn't jumped, she hadn't failed, she hadn't lost him...

It might have been minutes or hours, but she felt a tapping on her arm and uncurled.

Not speaking, they walked together to where stood (at that point) only Terry and the teenager.

After a moment's indecision she'd left Jake with the girl he so clearly needed to talk with and - flashing her a challenging glare as she went - walked over to the Sarge.

He gave her a tight hug and whispered the instructions Holt had left with him; explaining the others had gone back to the precinct but would just be on the end of a phone if they were needed - any time, any one of them. The primary suggestion was that Amy should take Jake back to their apartment... One of them would drop by tomorrow, Terry had assured her as she'd gazed over his muscled shoulder at the darkened sky - not a star to be seen.

Whispering a farewell to Terry, she had nodded in acknowledgement of the quiet 'good luck' he'd murmured in her ear before going to his car.

Strolling - purposefully sedately - over to the duo, she saw the girl had her sleeve rolled up over an outstretched arm. Unable to stop herself, her gaze drifted along the bared wrist and the layers of angry scars that covered it...

As she lay in the dark, Amy glanced sideways to survey the long sleeves her boyfriend wore - even in sleep. Her eyes filled with tears that she quickly blinked away, reminding herself of the promises she had made on that bridge and the hopes that she held onto for the dreaded conversation yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this CHAPTER! The second half of it took forever to get right and I'll be honest, I'm still not happy with it - but I simply HAD to set up some stuff ready for the rest of the 99's perspective on events, and in the end I figured you guys would prefer I update since it's been AGES. Sorry about that... But the next three chapters are basically done! So hopefully I can post them soon.  
Thanks for sticking with this fic - or just for reading it! :-)  
Subscribe to know when I update and please comment to tell me what you think (especially about the little bit from Amy's perspective)...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, this is actually a really great chapter to write at 2am while hormonal and emotional and exhausted! ;-)

The morning came. As it always did. As it always would - until after they had stopped caring...

Jake awoke and rolled over to see his girlfriend actually still in bed; sleepily he realised that his antics of the day before must have earned them both a vacation day - figures.

With a small sigh that soon mutated into an enormous yawn, Jake turned his attention back to Amy; loving how peaceful she looked, almost crying because he knew once she awoke that peace would be gone.

She was dozing only lightly, but begrudgingly relinquished her slumber as Jake brushed his fingers on her cheek.

"Hi." Jake whispered timidly, sleep still holding on to him. He looked so adorable in that moment that Amy just had to kiss him.

A few minutes later, as wakefulness fully enveloped them, Amy broke their kiss to murmur: "You know we have to talk."

Jake pulled away at once - not angry just tense - he tucked his arms (still swaddled in long sleeves) into himself and curled almost fetally into a ball.

Amy sighed quietly and stroked his hair - trying to be a calming presence despite the rising anxiety she also felt.

Her roaming hands left his hair to slowly trace his cheek and jawline, lips joining her exploration to meet his in a brief kiss, then she cautiously moved on; inching down his chest to grasp his hands in hers, never rushing, trying not to spook him as one would a frightened deer - her eyes remained inexorably locked on the shrouding sleeves of his pyjama top.

Jake cleared his throat nervously, hyper-aware of her every movement and his own. Amy sighed against him; her face buried in his shoulder. Just as Jake began to work up the courage to say something, she released him and left the bed (their bed).

Staring up at her, wetting his dry lips reflexively, Amy's gaze caught the motion and she paused momentarily before speaking in a gentle tone: "I'm going to make a cup of tea, do you want one?"

A quick nod on his part, and she dragged on her dressing gown and padded into the kitchen (their kitchen); Jake watched her go in silence, concentrating on breathing deep, even breaths.

When his girlfriend returned, for a moment Jake did not realise it and she stood watching him - a mixture of worry and love filling her heart.

“Jake?” she impelled and his head snapped towards her instantly; and her cautious but warm smile that had crept onto her face fell as he did so, “Can you talk to me?”

With a sigh, Jake turned towards her and settled on the bed (their bed) with his back wedged against the headboard and a pillow locked firmly in his anxious grip; Amy joined him on the bed, eyeing his arms without meaning to – unable to get the image of the teenage girl’s mutilated limbs from the day before out of her head.

Jake watched her silently, as she sipped her tea and his sat waiting to go cold - how her eyes never strayed from where his arms lay, tense and weary atop the duvet. Biting his lip, he felt tears begin to prick at his eyes; he wanted to run, he wanted to scream, he wanted this to be over.

“This was never meant to happen.” he whispered - mostly to himself, but of course Amy heard his quiet declarative. If she were a dog, her ears would have pricked. If he were a dog, his hackles would be up by now – of course, metaphorically speaking they were; as every cell in his body locked into evolution’s response to fear: fight, flight or freeze. Naturally, he froze...

Observing his increased stress-levels (hello, detective here) his girlfriend gently asked: “What was never meant to happen?”

Jake looked up and met her calm but worried gaze and replied: “This.” he gestured between them. “You were never supposed to know. This conversation-” he gestured again, “was never supposed to happen.”

“And what was the alternative?” Amy prompted, coolly “Me finding out at your autopsy?”

Jake winced, but her harsh words made little impact otherwise – he was numb to them, just like everything else.

Silence knocked, and they opened the door to welcome him in.

He stayed for tea and biscuits.

“Do your arms look like hers?” Amy asked suddenly.

“What?” Jake cried shakily, nervous to the point of terror.

“Do your arms look like that girl’s do?” Amy repeated, temper flaring ever so slightly as Jake simply shrugged. Had her frustration (leading her to annoyance) let her, she might have seen how his shoulders never relaxed, remaining hunched and bowed as if he were holding up the weight of the sky.

“Amy-” Jake began, but she cut him off.

“Just tell me!”

“I-”

“Or better yet; show me!” At this she began to lunge forward and Jake flung himself away from her probing fingers (recoiling as much from the intent plain on her face) - tumbling off the bed (their bed) as he did so. Though she paused, realising her error, backed off and readied to apologise; Jake rolled out of his ball of blanket and pillow to stand towering over her, his face tight with anger and loathing self-disgust.

“Amy! Please. Try to understand. I don't _want_ to do this!” Jake yelled, gesturing to his covered arms. “I _never_ wanted things to end up like this. You think I _wanted_ to end up stood on a bridge, ready to jump, because I thought it was the only option I had left…” he looked away hurriedly (blinking back tears and trying to gulp away the sudden lump in his throat) - all aggressivity gone as he stared numbly at the wall and added quietly in a broken, achingly weary voice: “You think that when I first picked up the blade, I knew where it would lead me. I didn't. I was young and stressed out simply by things that everybody else seemed to handle so easily. I didn't know what the consequences of my actions would be. I’m sorry.”

Shocked and frozen, Amy’s thoughts stumbled over themselves as she sought a reply to such a despondent, hate filled tirade – that was only half aimed at her.

“Why are you apologising to me?” she questioned finally.

“Because I should know better.” he answered bitterly, "A few months ago I should have known _better_, yet I still-” he broke off, before sinking back onto the bed and continuing despairingly, “I didn't realise what would happen. I was stupid and arrogant and selfish and weak and-”

“Hey!” Amy interrupted him, sternly but lovingly, shuffling closer to him and placing a caring hand on one rigid shoulder. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, they shared a peaceful smile; then Jake sighed and shrugged her hand away…

“The point is: I've been here before. And I _never_ wanted to go through this again. Recovery-” he paused, words failing him momentarily, “It ain't easy.” he finished in a chillingly casual tone that completely contradicted how his voice cracked over the words and how helpless tears rolled down his face. “In fact it was the hardest fucking thing I've ever done; and I've been undercover in mob gangs and homeless - and been unjustly put in prison I might add!”

Amy opened her mouth to soothe him, but his desperate rambling continued after only a seconds pause.

“The idea of being right back at the beginning, all over again, makes want to scream and cry and just run away. That's what being on the bridge was: running. I couldn't face doing this anymore, all alone...” he admitted softly, any harshness in his tone clearly reserved for himself.

“Jake, you’re not alone.” Amy whispered, “You weren’t then, and you aren’t now.”

“Of course I was, of course I am.” Jake answered, first angrily then sadly, “I’ve been lying to those I care about the most - I couldn't face that. Just as I can’t face coming clean, because now you know; and that terrifies me.” The detective explained, defeated.

“Yes, Jake. But now I understand-”

“What!” Jake rounded on her and Amy moved back on instinct. “You think that you understand? You think that one harried admission on the edge of a _bridge _means now you get it? You don't_ get it_, ok? How can you understand how much I need to cut? How can you possibly-” he cut off abruptly with a sharp intake of breath and his raised hand fell limply to his side.

“Why do you feel like- why do you need to cut?” Amy corrected herself, moving closer to her boyfriend once again; seeking comfort by his side as she tried to offer him some herself.

“Need isn’t the right word.” he responded slowly, matching the low volume of her voice with his own, “It's… like an itch, okay?” At his girlfriend’s slightly puzzled nod, he continued “The itchiest itch in the history of itches - just imagine it for a moment, alright? There's an itch on your arm or wherever; and you know, you _know_, you're not supposed to itch it… But when you do, it just feels so right and then… Then itch goes away – just for a little while...”

“Jake-”

“But when you stop, the itch returns: stronger than ever, like it's mocking you. So you carry on itching... Even though you can only hear the blood rushing through your ears, even though you’re now bleeding, even if everyone around you is screaming at you to stop, you just... _Can't_.” Jake finished, brokenly. The last syllable falling from his tongue like he wished to from that bridge – alone and utterly unpreventable.

“But if you _try_.” Amy incited, “I mean, you’ve managed it before, right?”

“Yes.” he acknowledged, a strange expression – almost like longing, but more like grief – coming over his features. “But even if you were to literally tie my hands and physically prevent me from... ‘Itching’ - that doesn't make it go _away_.” he explained desperately, the tears that had been once again gathering in his eyes now spilling over to roll haphazardly down his cheeks as his hate and unrelinquishing _despair _for the situation broke free and raged within him. “Just think about it for a minute. The more you think about not itching, the harder it is to ignore it... Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think I understand what you're saying.” Amy replied - cautious of another outburst but honest in her answer - stroking away his pained tears with her thumbs as she cupped his face in her hands.

Their foreheads met for a moment, for one precious moment; and then Jake crumpled like paper and slid limply into her embrace, weeping frustrated weary deadened lamentations against everything that had brought him to that moment. She held him silently, her arms clenched around his ribs in a wordless promise that she would always be there for him – no matter what.

But as Jake’s tears continued to soak through her pyjamas, she realised that maybe she wasn’t enough – not for this, not for Jake, not for the wounds she now knew his own arms bore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I'm guessing not many are going to appreciate exactly what I mean when I say that I am I am officially 1 year clean from cutting myself. Because, for me, this is a big deal - it's the first time I've managed a full 365 days. VERY BIG DEAL. Not easy, nor will it be for Jake...  
:-)
> 
> Please, PLEASE comment and let me know what you think of this chapter and this fic as a whole. I would really like to know!  
Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> I've done a little explanation thingy in my profile bio, talking about how each of my main three fics looks at self-harm and recovery.


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